For Now
by LMCofTIC
Summary: Many months after a stray satellite hit Thunderbird 5 while John Tracy was alone on board, he's still feeling the aftereffects of a most terrifying experience.


**FOR NOW**

_by LMC_

* * *

_Many months after a stray satellite hit Thunderbird 5 while John Tracy was alone on board, he's still feeling the aftereffects of a most terrifying experience._

_Rated R._

* * *

Somehow he knew there'd be time for that. There'd be time for that 'thinking about stuff' crap later. Not now. Not now with so much going on. But as he looked up at where the wrecking ball swung in the wild winds above them, he couldn't help the shiver that crept from his toes to his neck or the chill that ran up his spine. He felt his breath become uneven but he couldn't stop it. Couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu, even though it wasn't a wrecking ball that hit Thunderbird 5.

It sure felt like that's what it had been.

He hadn't been back up there yet. Not yet. Scott, in true big brother and field commander fashion, had stated in no uncertain terms that John was not to return to the space station. No, not yet. Of course, John could ordinarily give a rat's ass as to Scott's orders where matters of a personal nature were concerned. After all, he was the one of four who stood up to Scott on a regular basis.

But on this matter, he acquiesced with very little fight. He wasn't...scared...exactly. No, he wouldn't call it scared...precisely. It was more that he was...well, that he was...gun-shy. Yes, that was it. Hell, who wouldn't be? And to be able to do little or nothing about the whole damn thing was frustrating. If they did, it would put International Rescue in far too much danger of exposure, and his family right along with it. He'd talked with his father at length, and agreed with Jeff's logic where that was concerned.

It didn't help his nights, though, spent lying awake or having nightmares about it all. And now, looking at that wrecking ball coming so close to the high-rise...it was like watching a reenactment of the satellite holing 5, only this time from the outside. The alarms had sounded, but it had all happened so fast. Too fast for him to react. He couldn't even get a channel open, couldn't secure anything, couldn't secure _himself_.

Numb, cold, black, dark. Alone. Goddammit. Not now, not on my first rescue back. Shit, don't let Scott see you like this, Johnny, or he'll ground you for six months. Shit.

Move the crane into position. Don't look up. That was the solution. People pouring out of the high-rise, wrecking ball way above, don't think about it. Make sure Virgil's in the right spot. Have to look up for that. Shit.

There it is, coming nearer and nearer the building. If we don't catch it, if we don't stop it, it'll smash clean through the wall. Clean through the wall.

Clean through...the wall.

He heard it before he felt anything. Heard the high-pitched whine, the squeal. Incoming, his mind yelled, INCOMING! Snapping to attention, hand moving toward the 'com, but too slow. Not a second to spare. Ripping, metal tearing apart. 5 rocked, he fell, hit his head, all thought just gone.

Can't let the ball hit, can't let the ball hit.

"John, you ready?"

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He took off his hat, swiping at the hair matting to his head, threw the hat down.

"John?"

"In position, Thunderbird 2. Go."

He had to look up or he wouldn't know where Virgil was, where 2's iron hand was. Had to look up. It's not 5, John, get a fucking grip.

"Two feet right, Virg, you'll stand a better chance on her next swing."

"F.A.B."

The ball whooshed over his head. He ducked. He actually ducked.

Shit!

"Got it, John! Go!"

Shit, shit, what...?

Ripping, tearing. Hear the metal, 5 roared, he heard her roar. His baby, _his_ space station. Like a wounded animal crying out, unable to protect him any longer.

How he'd survived was beyond him.

"John!"

"Grabbing now!"

Wiped the side of his face with his sleeve. Moved the crane's arm, caught the bottom of the ball, Virg had the top of the chain, 2 thrashed wildly for a few seconds before he got it under control. You have it. It won't hit, Johnny. It won't hit. You have it. You stopped it.

The small laser tool jutted out of the crane's arm and began cutting the chain.

"She all secure, John?"

"F.A.B. Cutting through chain now."

"Make sure you have her, John." Scott's voice. The commander, yes, but worried.

He knew what they were all thinking. First time out since the accident. First time out and it's a fucking wrecking ball threatening to hole a building. How fucking coincidental.

This is bullshit. Concentrate, John, it's land, not space. It's now, not then. You're fine. You lived. One look at the screen, the laser's almost through. Almost through. Brace yourself, the weight of the ball, it'll come down hard.

Tighten that grip, tighten the hold of the clamp. There you go. Laser's almost through.

"Looking good, John."

Rolled his head around to catch the sweat from his neck with the collar of his blue uniform. A large gust of wind slammed into the crane and he jumped. He actually fucking jumped. Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous.

Calm the fuck down. Dammit, John.

Laser's through.

"Laser's through, commenc--"

"JOHN!"

"NO, JOHN!"

It was happening. Just like in his dream, his nightmare. The ball. The ball came toward him. Barreling toward him, a gigantic bullet from a massive cosmic gun aimed straight at him. Straight at him.

Incoming, his mind registered. Again. INCOMING!

Move the hand, swing the ball away.

Too late. Momentum brings it close, close, closer.

Hands in front of face, cower in the seat. Did that yelling scream come from you?

_I'm going to die._

Again.

A guttural roar, he woke up soaked in sweat, legs and bedsheets knotted and intertwined, white-knuckled hands holding his pillow in front of his face.

A pillow. Some protection.

Heaving breaths, heart pounding through the chest, up in the throat the pulse pounds wildly. Dry throat, swallow, can't get any spit. Kick at the sheets, kick and kick, grappling as though with the very monster your childhood nightmares brought to life. Sheets finally hit the floor, but then the cold sets in, cool breeze against clammy sweat-soaked skin. The shiver starts at feet and moves up to head, the spine tingles in remembrance of the familiar beast come to claim him. The satellite, the ball...same difference, all out of his control. Nothing to do but die.

Every time he died. Every time it took him. He'd escaped on 5, how? Who knew? He'd escaped but it would come back to get him. Death's design, it would be back for him, or so the nightmares foretold. Was it every night? Who could keep track? Days ran into one another, nights melded together into an unending sea of pictures and movies, Death of John...John Finally Dies...Gone, John...The Death of a Tracy. Over and over, unending. Perhaps funny in some other universe, but not in the one that existed inside his mind. Not in _his_ universe.

Look over your shoulder, Johnny, Death's there, just waiting. Tried to take you again after you came home, didn't it? Damn jets fly too fast to the hospital, don't they? Foiled again. Like some evil Spy vs. Spy remake, the black always following the white, unable to get him but never giving up and in the end, he knew he wouldn't outrun the bony hand, the fabled figure of cloak and scythe.

Silly? Crazy? Fucking nuts.

But always there. Every time he closed his eyes he knew it would come. Sleep an hour, two, four, didn't matter. Eventually it would come to haunt him. If not the wrecking ball, then the stray satellite. If not the stray satellite, then the underwater avalanche. If not the avalanche, colliding mid-air while piloting Thunderbird 1. Always, it was something. If he stayed on the island, could he stay alive? No, not according to the dreams. Oh, no, Johnny, you're not safe no matter where you are.

There's the toolbox falling off 2's wing. And can't forget the gantry giving way while walking to 1, oh, no, a favorite recurring one. And Brains blowing you up in the lab. Well, that was always a hazard, right? Brains is always fucking blowing shit up. Can't even talk to him now. Nobody gets it. Nobody. Sure, they've all faced Death at one time or another, but shit, this is what we do on rescues, it makes fucking sense we'd be in danger out there.

But in down-time, in his time, no rescues, no world disasters, nothing going on. Why then? In a time of peace, the most die, he'd once read. People howl over the death toll in a war, but what about the daily death toll the world 'round? In a time of peace, the most die.

In a time of peace, I die.

Isn't it enough I've been left without my mother?

Shit, John, cut the poor me crap, would you? You're a Tracy, get a fucking grip on yourself. You aren't going to die.

Sure, the rational side kicks in. Logic says the dreams are bullshit, the portents of evil to come are bullshit.

But logic doesn't rule my nights. Chipper, happy, put a smile on to face the world. I can do it. After all, I'm alive.

For now.

* * *

_Stay tuned for the sequel, "Ann."_


End file.
